


Trust Yourself

by laireshi



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: 5Vergil/3Vergil, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Selfcest, background incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 19:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21481945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/pseuds/laireshi
Summary: This one time, Vergil managed to save himself.
Relationships: Background Dante/Vergil, Vergil/Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 83





	Trust Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Vergilcest Week](https://twitter.com/vergilcestweek) on twitter, for the "Protected and Loved" square.

It’s unsettling, Vergil can admit in the privacy of his own mind, to look at someone who is indubitably himself—and yet so much younger, so much _brighter_; unbroken and whole. Something in him aches at the sight, almost jealous, and he hopes against everything that his own future will not be this Vergil’s future, that he’ll never experience the same horrors. 

He’s fairly sure it’s not actually his own past self he’s looking at: the Yamato, amazing as she is, cannot cut through time. But she _can_ cut through space, down to the limits between the universes, it seems. He’d stumbled upon some research on the topic, years and years ago, but had never investigated it in-depth, focused on other endeavours. He’ll make sure to fix that oversight. 

The younger him seems intrigued. “I’d assume a shape-shifter, under normal circumstances,” he says, “but I can _sense _you. _And_ her.” He looks at the Yamato, sheathed at Vergil’s side.

Vergil nods. “It is the most curious experience.”

The awareness of the other Vergil is not quite like the way he can feel Dante: half of his soul, and yet separate from him. This Vergil _is_ him, yet he’s not. The most peculiar thing is perhaps how there’s absolutely nothing threatening about it, not just because there’s barely anyone in any world who could actually pose a threat to him, but because the one person he’s never had to fear was himself . . . and he can already tell it’s true for this other Vergil, too. 

“Not something you planned, then,” the other Vergil notes. “And yet . . .” He steps closer; reaches out a hand. It’s still a surprise to himself that Vergil doesn’t step away or bat him away. No one’s touched him like that but Dante, but he lets his younger self touch his cheek carefully. “I sense that, too. The power in your veins.”

“Might is everything,” he whispers like a distant memory. It _is_, and it’s _not_, and he wonders how to convey that, a knowledge born from years of torment, polished clear in Dante’s smile as they found each other again. 

“But you have it.” The other Vergil looks into his eyes, fascinated. “It means I succeed. I get the power to protect us.”

Vergil swallows inadvertently against the wave of emotions. He pries his other self’s hand from his face to hold it between both of his palms instead: not a rejection but a warning. He weighs the words against his tongue, years of history too dark to remember; settles on the simplest truth of all. “You didn’t.”

The hand in his grasp twitches. The other Vergil frowns, surprised by his tone as much as by his words. “What happened, then?”

Always looking for knowledge, information to arm himself with: Vergil understands that, and yet, the question, though completely expected, a logical follow-up in their conversation, makes him wince. 

He’s not sure how to answer. He’s not sure he _can_ answer. It’s not a question he’d ever faced before. Dante only knows the truth because he’d seen what had become of Vergil. It’s an annoying fact, having another witness to his utter failure (a comfort at night, when Vergil wakes up drenched in sweat and Dante is there to ground him in the present). 

But he has to do something, so this painfully young Vergil won’t find out on his own. 

And . . . There is a way.

He brings the other Vergil’s hand down, towards the hilt of his Yamato. 

“Draw her,” he instructs him. It’s not an offer lightly made, but he doesn’t have a choice. 

The other him protests even though he must understand Vergil would never say it if it wasn’t of utmost importance. “_Your_ Yamato? I—” 

“You _can_. Draw her and tell me what you feel.”

He listens, then, curls his fingers carefully around her and pulls her out of her sheath. Vergil grits his jaw hard. He hates it, having someone else touch his weapon. There was a time when he could’ve traded his sword with Dante’s for a short moment in a fight, but then she’d been ripped from him and destroyed, and now . . . Now he doesn’t let her go, ever. Dante had drawn her, once; had also seen something in Vergil’s face even before Vergil could react that made him immediately give her back, uncharacteristically quiet.

It’s not really more comfortable when the person handling his Yamato is another version of himself. It still puts him on edge, anxious despite himself, but he keeps his breathing regular and steady and his face calm. 

He sees the exact moment the other Vergil notices the truth. He goes white as a sheet, his hand shaking before he forcibly composes himself. He all but pushes the Yamato back at Vergil in his attempt to separate himself from the sensation, and Vergil takes her gratefully and carefully runs his palm along the flat of her blade.

It’s not something that can be felt by touch or seen with eyes, the part of her blade where she’d been broken. But it is there, forever, a reminder of his pathetic weakness.

She hums under his touch, comforting; a reminder that she, at least, has never blamed him. 

The other Vergil puts his hand on his own Yamato, his thumb running over her tsuba as a way to ground himself. “I. . .”

“You thought it was impossible. I know.” Vergil can’t keep all the bitterness out of his voice. The Yamato was able to cut through _anything_; it should’ve meant nothing could’ve possibly been able to break _her_. Mundus had proved him wrong in so many respects.

“Power is important,” Vergil continues. “It lets us protect what matters. But there’s power in staying together, too, that you lack on your own.”

The other him understands, of course he does, and of course he bristles at the words. “Dante is—”

“I’ve had somewhat more time with him, I know what he’s like,” Vergil interrupts, amused, but then grows serious again. “I know it feels impossible. But you’ll get a choice one day, and when it comes, _don’t_ repeat my mistakes. Stay with him.”

He’s stubborn, this other Vergil, but Vergil stares him down, the Yamato still bare in his hand serving as a reminder. _My road led to her being broken. Do you want to wager a guess as to what happened to me to allow for that?_

The other Vergil nods, at last. His eyes glued to the Yamato, he says, quietly, “I’ll never forget that.”

Vergil sheathes her. “I would apologise, but I’d rather warn you than have you _live_ through it.”

“But _how—_” The younger Vergil stops himself and shakes his head. “I am glad you overcame it, whatever it was.”

_Overcame_ is one word for it. Vergil closes his eyes briefly, pushing it all away: the summoned memories, the suffering, Dante’s role in it and the nightmares he’d cut out of his soul. 

But if there’s one good thing to come from him surviving it all it’s that this Vergil _won’t have to_. Vergil doesn’t even know him, not really, but he remembers being that age; he remembers having given up on anyone caring. 

The other Vergil touches his face again, equally gently as earlier, but with both hands this time. Vergil looks at him, questioning, when he runs one thumb along his lip. He shivers under the touch, for all that it’s brief, but he doesn’t shy away. It’s just himself, after all.

He’s ready for it when his other self angles his body against his and presses a soft kiss against his lips, careful, not demanding, just there; comfort and an offer in one. Vergil pulls him closer as he takes control of the kiss, returning it more insistently. The other Vergil clings to him, his hands closed tightly around his arms.

Kissing someone looking just like himself definitely isn’t a novel experience, but for all that they look the same, Dante and him have different reactions, different preferences. Vergil kisses the other man the way he likes to get kissed, slow and unrushed but thorough, exploring the other Vergil with dedication, building up the pleasure. He smiles into the kiss as he deepens it, eliciting a delicious sound from the other man.

He lets him go then, but keeps holding him around the waist, both pleased and amused to see his eyes grown dark, his cheeks flushed. 

It’s such a Dante-like decision when he thinks of it, but he doesn’t even have to really consider it. The other him appears strong, but he needs someone to lean on, if only for a while. Vergil knows that better than anyone. 

He knows what happened to him when he didn’t have that option.

“I _will_ have to find a way to get back,” Vergil warns him, “but I suppose it can wait a bit.”

Another kiss is his answer. 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has a [twitter post](https://twitter.com/tonytears/status/1196536912330268674) :)


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